My Bad Days Are Worse Than Yours
by Chaos Dragon
Summary: Some people have bad days, but I swear mine put them all to shame.


My Bad Days Are Worse Than Yours

My bad days are worse than yours. I'd really like to say I'm lying or joking or anything, but it's the utter truth. Point in fact? My physics teacher just lit me on fire.

"Oh my god," my lab partner cries. Shelly is a nice girl, but a little dim. If my arm weren't currently a mass of flames I'd probably smack her with it because she's too dense to do something about putting it out instead of shrieking like a banshee.

And believe me, I have a basis for the comparison since one of my two best friends is Danny Phantom. And, well, he sort of attracts all the weirdo's, myself included.

It's taking all of my willpower not to do the stupid thing and wave my arm in panic, but it's not the first time I've ever had y life threatened. First time I've ever been on fire, though, and it's chemical, so I really doubt that stop, drop and roll is going to work on this one.

"Professor Adams, do you think you could put me out? Like now?" I demand as I shove my burning sleeve at him. So far it's just the surface of the lab coat, but I can feel the heat working its way through to my shirt beneath. And my skin is right under than.

"Someone get a bucket!" Shelly cries, and now I do reach out to try and smack her. But it's too late; she's already got the faucet on and is splashing the ignited chemicals on me.

Now it's my turn to scream, because that was a Very Bad Idea. Yes, complete with capital letters. Oh yeah, very bad, because the fire that _had_ been burning on the top layer of material has suddenly, miraculously, learned that there's more underneath it. my arm starts waving a bit—I can't help it, that's my skin being burned too.

There's cursing that I can hear through the sounds I'm making; I'm startled to realize that it's mine. Oh, and the professor's as he nearly lifts me off of my lab stool and drags me to the door and the fire extinguisher that's rated for chemical fires. Oh hell, this is going to be unpleasant.

Before I can protest, something I know will be ignored, Professor Adams is hosing my arm (and a great deal of the rest of me) down with the white foam. Fire out, good to go, except for the ruined lab coat, shirt, and at least the first layer of skin. Mother of god, that really hurts.

"Come on, Miss Manson. Let's get you to the infirmary," he tells me now, grabbing a clean clean-up rag and wetting it before laying it across the burn.

The relief is instantaneous, and even if I know it's not going to last I can't help but sigh in relief as I scrub the tears from my face. Dammit. I cried. In front of everyone. Someone's going to wind up hurt now. Good thing the reason I was on fire is now escorting me out of the science building and to the university infirmary. It's close, one of the few good things about going to a small college.

Then he abandons me there without even admitting he lit me on fire! Oh, definitely going to make my physics professor cry when I'm out of here.

"Aw, dearie," the aging nurse says to me as she sits me on an exam table and carefully peels back the wet cloth. I don't look, just close my eyes as she gives me the verdict. "A nasty burn, but it looks like it's not too terrible. Second degree in places; do you want to go to the hospital?"

I gape at her. "Um, no," I tell her. It was hard enough convincing my parents going to the same college as Danny wasn't a terrible idea. If they found out I'd gone to the emergency room they wouldn't even wait to find out why, just blame Danny and yank my tuition, and thereby me, so quickly I wouldn't have skin left at all from the heat of the speed.

"Alright then," is all the nurse tells me as she begins cutting my sleeves off and cleaning the burn with sterile saline and wads of gauze.

Wow, it hurts more than being on fire did. Where's my painkiller? Not even a Tylenol. The old bat; someone hates me a lot right now. It feels like it takes forever before she finally slathers on burn cream and loosely bandages it with gauze. And still no Tylenol.

"Can I go now?" I ask, hoping that she'll let me leave to find some Tylenol on my own. And maybe an icepack, because I know that the cream is only going to soothe it for so long.

"Oh no." She blinks at me owlishly before patting the newly bandaged arm, making me grit my teeth and tear up. When I'm done here I'm going to file a complaint. My complaints are going to have complaints. People are going to lose job and die from what I'm going to do to them, I think with savage glee.

"You'll need someone to sign you out so we can make sure you're being cared for properly."

Now my jaw drops. Is she serious? I don't have a roommate. I live alone off campus unless Tucker is visiting or Danny falls asleep on my couch. (Yet another thing my parents would kill me over if they knew.) "You're kidding, right?" I demand, and the crazy bitch just shakes her head as she leaves me alone.

Alright, this is a new record. That's two school officials who've abandoned me in less than an hour. Maybe my parents were right, barring the complaints about Danny. Or maybe I should have risked the emergency room. Anything would be better than this.

And then I hear the most wonderful thing. Danny calling, "Sam!" as he appears down the hall.

I wave with my unbandaged arm and he rushes in. "Someone said Adams set you on fire. Are you alright?"

His blatant concern is a wonderful balm on my wounded pride, if not my arm, and I just lean into the friendly hug he's giving me. I'm surprised when he presses a kiss to the top of my head, I swear I can feel it tingling against my skin even through my hair. Sometimes, when we're not paying attention to who we are and what we live with we do things like this. It's the closest we ever come to admitting to one another that we care. At least, that's what Tucker says, because I know I'm in love with him, but Danny has only given me these little signs that he feels more than just friendship.

"Just a little bit," I try and temporize, because he's so worried.

He snorts as he examines the bandage that runs from above my elbow down across the back of my hand. "Anything is too much. Can you go home?"

Oh thank god. I nod eagerly. "Please, she's crazy. Just sign me out and tell her you'll do whatever she says. I can take it from there."

It has to mean something that he sits through a fifteen minute lecture on burn care, most of which doesn't even apply to me because I don't have third degree burns across most of my body, or even a little bit. But it'll be alright, because while she's talking I've swiped two clinic sized tubes of the burn cream and a dozen rolls of gauze. My pockets are bulging oddly, but I don't care.

And, wonder of wonders, I find some aspirin. Not Tylenol, no coating to help dry swallowing a few easier. I gag at the acrid flavor on my tongue before pocketing those, too.

Then Danny is by my side, his backpack on his back and mine in his hand as he loops the free one around my waist. I willingly lean on him as he mutters, "Come on, let's get out of here before she starts in on me again."

I'm giggling and wincing at the same time as we flee for our lives. Danny only walks us far enough to duck between some tall shrubs before he goes ghost and makes us invisible. "Short cut home," he says as he scoops me up easily before leaping into the air.

It's cool, between the temperature higher up and the wind on us. My arm doesn't hurt so bad as I cradle it against my stomach, but the relief doesn't last long enough. I may not live on campus, but I only live across the street. So when he phases us through the wall and sits me down I'm already getting ready to squirm at the pain as heat builds up from the inside of my arm out.

"You alright?" Danny asks me, and he smiles sheepishly at the glare I'm giving him. "Yeah, stupid question. But hey, normally it's you asking me. Come on, let's get you an icepack."

I frown and follow him telling him, "I don't have one."

"Sandwich bags?"

I shrug and he rummages through my kitchen looking for the baggies. He fills one with ice and then tucks it into another one, and them into yet another before shooing me to my bedroom. "Just sit with that on your arm. I'll get your boots," he tells me.

Have to admit, having Danny on his knees in front of me, unlacing my shoes and being completely attentive is nice. Very nice. And so is the icepack. He's such a useful man to have around when he's not being beaten to a pulp by ghosts or causing exorbitant amounts of property damage when beating them to a pulp.

"Go on and lie down, I'll call your professors for the rest of the day and tomorrow. You need to focus on getting better before you try and go back to class."

Eh. He might have a point, because it's my right arm and I'm right handed. And it'll be awkward trying to do everything left handed. And I can just imagine everyone coming up with their fake 'oh Sam, what happened' or 'I heard about it, are you okay' bullshit. That and I needed to plot the demise of a certain professor. And an idiot lab partner.

So I do lay down and settle the icepack so that I don't have to hold it. Danny goes off to make the phone calls and I can hear the low rumble of his voice as he makes sure that I have a free pass to miss the rest of the week of classes. At least if this happened it happened on a Thursday. Four days till I have to go back, thank you god. In fact, I'm so at ease with him and listening to him, the coolness against the burn, and quite possibly the four aspirin I swallowed, that I start to drift off to sleep.

I'm actually drifting really hard when the cool weight on my arm moves and the burning heat starts building up along my arm. I whimper and my eyes crack open. "Shh, Sam. The baggies are leaking. Hang on."

Yeah, because I have a real choice about it. He's already gone with my beloved icepack before I can do more than open my mouth to tell him I don't care if my bed gets soaked, just don't take it away. And when he comes back empty handed I'm struggling to sit up to kill him. He's saved because I automatically bend my right arm, which makes it scream at me in pain, driving tears to my eyes as I bite my tongue in shock.

"Dammit, Sam, lay down," he tells me as he pushes me back down, hands on my shoulders as I grip my burned arm to my stomach.

Then the bed dips as he sits down and stretches out next to me, tucking me against him so that the burned arm is across his waist, flesh wound up, my head on his shoulder and his chin firmly holding it there. Before I can protest he gently lays his left hand on top of the burn. I'm ready to scream bloody murder because I know it's going to hurt, and then—

Oh. Oh wow. His hand is covered in ice and glows faintly and the burn doesn't hurt at all.

"Alright, Sam," he instructs me. "Go back to sleep. I've got you."

And he does, so I do. When I wake up it's completely dark outside and I'm still curled against him, his hand cooling my arm. It's really endearing, too, because now that he's not holding me still against him he's got the lamp on next to the bed as he lays with me reading a book.

He feels me when I shift and slants a smile down at me. "How're you doing?" he asks, and I crack a little smile.

"All things considered, good," I tell him. Then I smirk. "You're staying here tomorrow. You're the perfect icepack."

He just smiles at me and settles back into his book as I stay sprawled half on his chest.

So yeah. Today, my physics teacher accidentally lit me on fire. But not everyone can say they have their own personal icepack in the form of Danny Phantom. So maybe it works both ways, because I can swear to you that my good days are better than yours too.

xXx

**This was supposed to be a drabble. My bad.**


End file.
